As It Seems
by Xelif
Summary: How did the killer escape a room leaving doors and windows locked from the inside? Booth calls it an XFile. Brennan doesn't know what that means. They need to solve the case fast or the killer may strike again.
1. Prologue

**Prologue.**

It was a smell that crawled down the throats of everyone in the room, clutched at their guts and twisted slowly. For some it was worse than the sight of it. It was only a mess of browns inside rotting fabrics propped against the wall. Weeks of heat in the sealed, poorly ventilated brick room, sitting in the path of the relentless afternoon sun that burned through the opposite window, it was like a nightmare ripped from a restless sleep and oven cooked.

Zack wiped his nose, a modest display of discomfort, and lifted the camera. Dr Brennan watched the remains light up unnaturally under the flash. Her jaw stiffened as, each time, she glimpsed the essence of horror.

Her eyes lifted, scaling the fan of dried blood that reached high up the brick wall, baked almost black. She would find bits of brain and skull amongst it. The gun was on the floor, next to the leg. Initial observations suggested it was not placed. This was a suicide. It had to be. The body was found like this, the only door and only window locked and sealed from the inside. The walls were brown brick. The exterior was painted cement.

Brennan didn't like it. She didn't understand it. She could rationalize it but those conclusions never satisfied her. She would identify the body and move on. She would identify the woman whose only answer was to lock herself in a tiny room stick a gun in her mouth and blow her brains against the wall.

The camera flashed again and Brennan hushed the cries of madness that haunted underneath the final layers of her mind.

"I'm done, Dr Brennan."

She turned at his voice and clung to his eyes. She needed to know someone still appreciated life. Zack gave a nod and a small smile and she regained her composure. No one else knew she had lost it for a tiny moment. No one knew how many times that had happened. She wished she were one of those people.

"Good." She adjusted the gloves on her hands. He nodded and smiled at her again. She liked that he could smile at her. She approached the body. The shoulders slouched to one side, the head drooped. The hands had propelled back hard into the lap, the gun slipping over the left thigh. Brennan's eyes were alert, her fingers working delicately.

When she needed it, Zack held open a plastic evidence bag. His reliability was a relief. She picked carefully at the fragments of skull stuck inside the grooves of the wall and bagged them separately. Zack helped her patiently.

"It's quiet without Booth," he said finally. It was a valid observation. It wasn't entirely unwelcome either. Brennan was grateful for his attempt to distract her.

"We don't just work for Booth, Zack," she reminded him. It was an invitation for him to keep talking to her. Zack understood it.

"I know. He hasn't needed us for a while," he nodded.

"I would call that a good thing," said Brennan, dropping a fragment into a bag. Zack sealed it up, packed it away and opened a new one.

"I just thought he would have found time to visit, you know, I mean, I'm not saying I want him to visit, personally…that is..."

Brennan looked up at him and for the first time since greeting her coworkers in the morning, smiled. Zack's awkwardness was endearing.

"He did visit," she said. She watched Zack's eyes go a bit wide all of a sudden.

"He did? When? Why didn't he come and…not talk to me?"

"It was the day I told you to go home early. You had a fever. You nearly fainted," she reminded him. The young man's face flushed pink.

"That's not true! I was leaning against the table and…"

"Your head fell on my shoulder."

"My palm was sweaty. It slipped. I was always perfectly conscious," Zack insisted.

"If that were true you would remember Booth not talking to you when he drove you home," said Brennan. A look of horror flashed on Zack's face. Then his keen sense of rationality kicked in.

"You're teasing me. Hodgins drove me home. I remember because he teased me about having terrible aim…" a spark of regret flickered in his eyes. Brennan decided she had put him through enough for one day and pretended she hadn't heard him. She had found the bullet. She dropped it into the bag Zack held open for her, while he continued to stare like an animal caught in headlights.

"We're done here," she said, and stood abruptly. She found the man in charge.

"I need this body sent to the Jeffersonian Institution. I'll require the gun as well." She left his sight quickly before he could protest her last demand. Zack gave the officer a nod and smile as he followed her out of the room.

Later, the mess of browns was laid out on an illuminated table at the labs at the Jeffersonian. Dr Temperance Brennan was going to find the name that went with it.

"The victim was found in a small room, sealed on the inside. Everything about the scene suggested suicide. The body position, the location of the gun, nothing seems out of the ordinary for a self inflicted gunshot through the roof of the mouth," she paused to allow her team time to absorb. Jack Hodgins folded his arms and scoffed. He was always eager to find a conspiracy. Brennan doubted very much he would find one this time.

Dr Camille Saroyan took over. "The remains were found by the daughter of the land owner. Presumably, this is the land owner, Debbie Carr. The remains are female, Caucasian. I would estimate the age to be forty-five to fifty years."

She moved to the table's edge and looked over the body.

It was the smallest reassurance the woman could allow herself. To be able to stand and look down on a broken, discarded body was akin to standing above despair itself. It couldn't effect her from so high up. If only to see if it would work for her, Brennan stepped up beside Cam.

"Evidence of fractures on the right tibia healed over time is concurrent with records of a broken leg seven years ago," she said. "Zack, get started on reconstructing the back of the skull then pass it off to Ange. I want to see this woman's face."

A gentle caress of concern touched Angela's eyes as she looked at her friend. She'd never heard Brennan request one of her sketches like that before. It worried her when a woman like Brennan was unnerved, and she could tell this case had rattled her.

"Sure. I'll get started." She had been holding her breath and was happy to leave the room. She would speak to Brennan later.

"Jack, I want a time of death." Brennan wasn't going to encourage him to do anything else. She wanted this case solved quickly. Then she could begin forgetting it. The man had wildness in his eyes, though he managed to nod calmly.

"Of course."

Cam watched Brennan leave towards her office. Hodgins smirked to himself and then offered that smirk to his superior.

"She didn't mean anything by it."

Cam turned to him, slouching her shoulder casually.

"And I didn't read anything into it. Nothing more than we must all feel about this case."

The man nodded and made sure his eyes didn't pass over the body as he turned back to his microscope.

Brennan went to her office and finally rested her head in her hands to release a troubled sigh through her palms. Her editor had e-mailed again. She wanted another chapter. Brennan couldn't work on it. She forced herself to read through some recent studies she had intended to read a week ago. Nothing registered. Nothing until the knock came at her door. When she looked up Zack was standing there.

"Dr Brennan, you're going to want to come and look at this," he said to her. His voice was too grave. His face looked too pale. Brennan felt the layers of her mind shift.

"Look at what?"

"It's more than one thing actually," Zack said as he lead Brennan back to the lab. Cam, Hodgins and Angela were waiting and looked just as troubled as Zack. Brennan looked down at Hodgins' computer screen.

"Do we have a positive ID or what?" Brennan asked, pretending she was just impatient and not nervous.

Angela handed her the sketch pad. Brennan looked down at a beautiful woman with long flowing hair, sharp, intriguing features and enchanting eyes. Sometimes Brennan thought her friend could capture more than a face when she did these identity sketches. But she didn't believe in that sort of thing, really.

"It's Debbie Carr, alright," Angela confirmed. Brennan shook her head.

"So what's wrong?" she asked. Hodgins turned in his chair, bringing up images on the screen.

"I was examining the hands for gunpowder residue, making sure our victim was actually holding the weapon when it fired," he said, "I found traces of emulsion common to duct tape around the knees and ankles of her clothing," he explained, watching Brennan's reactions carefully. Brennan only frowned but Hodgins knew just how troubled she was feeling now.

Zack pointed down at his own screen and Brennan looked at the scans of the skull he had pieced back together.

"Also, when I finished the reconstruction of the back of the skull I found this small fracture," he said, gesturing with the tip of his finger. Brennan peered at the screen. She knew instantly that it would have occurred soon before the bone had been devastated by the bullet.

"The texture of the fracture suggests it had not had time to heal before the victim died," Zack said, confirming what she already knew.

"This is all evidence of foul play," said Cam, verifying Brennan's fears and fixing her with a trained gaze. It was not possible. Brennan had never, not even for a moment, expected to find anything like this.

"Do you know what this could mean?" Hodgins asked her. He sounded excited.

"This woman did not kill herself," said Angela, "Debbie Carr was murdered."

"But how is that possible? All possible entry points to the room were sealed from the inside. How was she murdered if there was no way for the killer to leave the room?" Zack asked them all.

Brennan looked up at everyone. She couldn't ignore the findings. It wasn't going to be quiet anymore.

"Well now Booth actually has a reason to pay us a visit."


	2. The studio

**Chapter 1**

Booth's fingers tightened on the wheel.

"Let me just get this straight. The woman was found inside the room, the only door and window locked from the inside, and you're telling me this woman didn't commit suicide?"

Brennan didn't know why he had to 'get it straight'. He had read her report. It was all there.

"Right," she said.

"So somehow, the killer made it look like a suicide, and then…what? Disappeared?"

"No. Of course not. That's impossible," said Brennan, impatiently.

"So what we have here is some kind of x-file?" Booth asked. Brennan made a face and Booth clucked his tongue.

"You don't know what that means. I know."

"I'd rather just try and find out what happened to this woman," she said.

"But that's why we're on the case, right? To work out what happened," said Booth. It had been almost two weeks since they had worked together. He had been called out to aid in an investigation interstate. It had been a favor. It was dull. At least now he was owed a favor. He looked at her briefly before focusing on the road ahead. Brennan still felt cold.

"Right," she said.

The estate was isolated and hugged by vast stretches of sun baked grass that reached to the edge of twisted woods. The main house was not very big at all. The driveway was bigger. From the mailbox to the front door took more than two minutes in the car. But the room Booth and Brennan wanted was not in the main building.

A studio was built in the yard. It was quaint, like a modern cottage. The exterior was cement, painted dark clay red, and the plants and flowers that danced around it looked terribly out of place in the dry, desolate landscape. It was a little place, trying to be alive in a very dead and depressing land. It was that one person in the room who wore a multicoloured tie where everyone else wore navy.

It was too happy looking a place for someone to end their life so violently, Brennan thought. Booth parked the car by the main building. They had to walk to the studio and the local officer assigned to assist Booth was waiting with the keys. Brennan saw a young man, short dark hair, lean but perhaps stronger than he looked and glowing brown eyes.

Booth saw a kid, honest and unassuming. In his eyes was the look Booth saw more commonly in men twice, three times his age. The sharp fragments of brutality, the twisted wreckage of the failure of humanity, everything foul and rotten that tainted the soul and shattered weaker minds to pieces was calmed and hushed behind gentle brown eyes. This young cop was to be respected.

"Agent Booth?" the cop asked, through a smile.

"Detective Rains, right? This is my partner Dr. Brennan," Booth said, extending a hand which the man shook firmly.

"You're a little young for a Detective, aren't you?" Brennan observed.

"I might be," said Rains, casting his smile at her. Brennan wasn't sure if he was trying to be charming or not. Booth's reaction was usually her indicator, but he seemed distracted.

"Can we see the room?" the Agent asked.

"Right this way, sir," said Rains.

The room was as Brennan remembered it. Small, clean and hot. The arch of blood still stained the brick wall. There was little else in the room. A desk and a chair were under the window. Simple. Wooden. The wood panel floor had dusty foot prints all over it. Brennan had Angela analyzing Zack's photographs of the scene before it was invaded by cops. She hoped she would find something the killer left behind that explained how he escaped the room.

Booth stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. He stood very still, head tilted. Brennan thought he looked like he was sniffing the air. She found herself enchanted by his behavior at times. He was curious to her. He had an irritating tendency to take illogical routes and still end up at perfectly reasonable destinations.

"Terrible thing when someone takes their life," Rains said gravely. Brennan approached the window.

"I have reasons to doubt Mrs Carr committed suicide," she said.

"What's that?" Rains asked, confused. Booth suddenly began walking around the room again. Every now and then he stomped his foot repeatedly on the ground. Rains realized what they were looking for.

"If you're looking for another way into the room, I'd advise you not to waste your time. Even if those floorboards were loose the foundation is concrete," said the young Detective. Booth had never wanted to waste his time. He looked at Rains.

"What can you tell me about this studio? When was it built? Who built it?" He asked.

"Ah. I think the report said Ms Carr began construction on the studio a year ago. Private contractor. Can't remember the builder's name off the top of my head," said Rains.

Brennan's eyes panned slowly across the top of the window frame. The dark timber was polished, pristine. Even the grain of the wood was perfectly aligned. There was a thin layer of dust and Brennan hoped she would find the tiniest evidence someone had crawled out through the window. She was disappointed.

"My father used to do a bit of contract work. I'll find out the name of the contractor for you."

She tapped the glass gently with her nails, watching the edges where the panels of glass fitted into the seams in the frame. Not even the slightest shift. The glass was fitted perfectly and even sealed with rubber for extra stability.

Deeply discouraged, she left the window.

Booth was looking at the walls. He slid his hands over the brick. The cement filled the grooves between the bricks perfectly. Even when he scratched at the mortar, none came loose. He looked up at the ceiling. Plaster, cement, the whole room was expertly constructed. He banged his fists against the wall.

"This is solid brick, Bones," he said, and he decided to demonstrate just how solid by hopping back and giving it a powerful kick.

"Nothing got out through here," he said.

"I never said anything did," Brennan returned.

"We had a locksmith examine the door as well," said Rains, "He gave a statement confirming there was no way anyone could have locked the inside mechanism from the outside the room."

Brennan walked over to the door with interest. She had been struck by an idea. But when she looked at the way the hinges were fixed to the door frame she was forced to abandon it.

"What's the matter?" Rains asked her, noting the look of defeat in her eyes.

"I thought there was a chance someone could have left the room and fitted the door to the frame behind them," she said.

"No chance of that either, ma'am. Door can't be fitted while the lock mechanism is turned anyway. It's impossible," he said.

Booth huffed, amused at being told again what was impossible.

"Come on, Bones. We're not gonna find anything here," he said. Brennan turned on him.

"You're giving up?" she asked. Booth looked at her exhaustedly.

"I'm going back to the car," he said. Brennan tightened her lips and tried to stop a growl of frustration escaping between her teeth.

"So what? That's it?" She asked as she closed the car door. Booth started the engine.

"I'd like to speak with the daughter," he said. Brennan blinked. Booth just looked at her.

"I respect your doubts, Bones. The case deserves further investigation. We just weren't getting anything from the room," he told her. As he turned the car to head back out the long driveway, Brennan looked out the window at the lifeless land.


End file.
